Powered by Kere

The best laid plans often go awry, but that's not always a bad thing. My sister has been agonizing for the past few weeks about giving birth...to triplets...as one does. She's been building it up in her head to this giant spectre. So much so that she's created a scheme to get out of giving birth by transfering the triplets to someone else.
Of course she asked if I would volunteer. Now I love my sister but there are somethings that a man is just not made for. Giving birth being one of them. But I did want to help so, naturally, I shang-hai'd my doppel. The idea would be that Doctor Fancy would transfer the children into my doppelganger and when the time was right, slice him open for a nice, albeit strange, birthing.
Nature had other plans.
We were all there in a London Hospital with Fancy ready for the operation when the babies decided that it was time to come out, now.
Here's Amara, cursing the day she ever let Asterix touch her; here's me, seeing more of my sister than I have since our parents bathed us when we were three. But out the babies came, Durriken, Dhanya, and Tessier, kicking and screaming into a new world and forever moving me past that metaphysical barrier of Unclehood to...non-unclehood?

Posted by Rowane de'Dannan at 4:32 PM | Permalink | Comments

Recently I have been trying to strengthen ties with family and friends so I don't end up estranging them as I had my wife and so I found myself with my newly found sister, Amara, in Australia. She's been a bit delicate lately, what with her condition: being preggies with triplets.
So there we are, me taking careful measured steps in a sea of tents, she waddling alongside, her tummy leading the way. We weren't talking much, rather enjoying a sibling's company. What conversation we did have revolved around her angst over her swollen figure and whether or not she looked like a beached whale. I've noticed this happens when women get preggers. Of course I tell her that she doesn't, not even close to that. A beached whale collapses under its own weight eventually in a kind of squishy mess, and she's in no danger of that. Tartarus, Amara looks no different to me than when she left Ithaca on her travels those 40+ years ago and here I am, wrinkled, hair retreating...bugger. Ah well, such is life.
I kept on with the reasuring when I heard a thump behind me, the same kind of thump a pregnant woman with triplets makes. I turned around and there she was, my sister, flat on her back. She had fainted. No matter how much water I poured on her, she wasn't coming around. Now at this point I wasn't using my head because I lifted her into my arms and carried her all the way from Melbourne to an island off of Africa until my back gave out. In retrospect, a homunculus would have done a fairer job and did it with less protest of my bones.
Along the way I managed to snag two doctors to attended to my catatonic sister: one, Doctor Fancy (actually the de'Dannan family doctor who delivered me and my sisters decades ago) and the other, Razael, a otherworldly doctor that I hadn't met before.
Now theories abounded during those first few minutes; maybe Amara hadn't eaten recently; maybe there was some kind of desease that was affecting her; maybe she was possessed. The latter seemed to be the direction everyone was leaning towards, especially after Amara sprung up and proceeded to completely slap us around, biting all three of us until we were finally able to subdue her.
Once her bloodlust had subsided, we learned that she had gotten into some bad blood. Guess whose? Krug. I would have hoped my sister would have had more sense than to take a bite out of that...whatever that thing is, but this was, I'm sure, a lesson learned. Considering she's about ready to pop, she really needs to take better care of herself.
-Rowane de'Dannan

Posted by Rowane de'Dannan at 9:04 PM | Permalink | Comments